


Valentine's chocolate tastes like shit

by neverwere



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Arguing, Confessions, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwere/pseuds/neverwere
Summary: The morning after Valentine’s day is the worst.Moving means pain and Atsumu's head throbs with one of the meanest hangovers in recent history.It’s adisaster. An unmitigated, cosmical disaster.Atsumu hates himself, Valentine’s day and whoever invented forehead moles. He wants to punch his drunk self with a vengeance. He also hates Sakusa for invariably bringing out the worst in him.Fuck you Sakusa Kiyoomi, with feeling.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129
Collections: Sakuatsu Fluff Week 2021 <3





	Valentine's chocolate tastes like shit

**Author's Note:**

> rated M for drinking
> 
> Enjoy!

The morning after Valentine’s day is shit.

Atsumu wakes up feeling like a family of moles burrowed in his mouth overnight. Moving means pain and his head throbs with one of the meanest hangovers in recent history.

They had a singles night out to forget how shitty Vday is if you're on your own. It's like a reprise of Christmas Eve, just worse because it’s full of pink crappy hearts and sappy dinner dates and shit-tasting chocolate. It's too sweet. Atsumu hates it with a passion. 

He’s decided he hates both Valentine's day and Christmas Eve in equal measure. Both days are reminders of how painfully single he is, the dry desert of his dating life and the nest of his bedroom which has been left undisturbed for months and months.

It was him, Sunarin, back in Osaka for mid-season break, and Shōyō, who’d promised Natsu their first Osaka siblings “date”. Apparently the first time Natsu came back from primary school with a wobbly chin and no Valentine’s chocolate in her hands, Shōyō decided to take her out for a meal made only of dessert. Years later, they were yet to break the tradition, and Atsumu found it unbearably cute. 

Bokuto and Sakusa were back in Tokyo for the weekend, Samu working at the restaurant, the other Jackals either away or happily partnered.

It ended up with an irresponsible amount of shōchū, heavy reminiscing, fuzzy memories and gratuitous self-pity. Atsumu had a blast.

Shōyō even managed to get them to dance in the bar-turned-club after dark. Atsumu remembers dim lights, the taste of tequila, the smell of stale sweat. Nobody really enjoyed dancing, but not even Suna’s resting bitch face could resist Hinata Shōyō’s true power. It was awkward and frankly embarrassing, but full of laughter and fun.

A woman approached Atsumu at some point, coming near their small group with her friend. She was pretty, with short dark hair and silver circles in her ears. She shuffled further towards him, moving in time with the music and got so close that Atsumu was surrounded by a cloud of her flowery perfume. She caught Atsumu’s hand in hers and tugged gently, inviting. Atsumu could see her friend wedging herself between Suna and Shōyō.

There had been a sort of non verbal agreement between them not to take anyone home, and so he shook his head and turned his back to her, went to grab his friends and dragged them to the bar for another round.

Truth be told, he hadn’t taken anyone home in months, and not for lack of options. Or, well, for lack of _the_ one option that he would’ve picked but was not on the table. Or on any other surface, flat or otherwise, regrettably. A piña colada was all he needed to shove the thought aside.

They sat back into a booth, laughed some more, drank some more. Atsumu’s memories become very blurry after that. 

More of the bar’s low lights and loud music.

At some point a taxi ride home. 

He and Suna trying not to look obviously drunk while buying snacks in the 24h kombini around the corner from his apartment. He remembers trying and failing not to giggle like a kid at the checkout, and not much else after that. 

Astumu gets up in the end — he feels awful, but there’s a happy buzz underneath.

He’s in the middle of making himself a cup of tea when he hears the ping of a notification from his pocket. He ignores it for the time being, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and Fuck

_Fuck_

_FUCK_

He freezes on the spot. He thinks he sent a text last night. A drunk text. A potentially compromising, endlessly embarrassing, dangerous, stupid text. Maybe even _multiple_ texts.

He’s never been so afraid to check his messages.

But he has to. Can’t avoid it forever. 

He pulls his phone from his pocket with an overwhelming sense of dread. There are a few notifications waiting for him. Fuck.

> **Sexy Jackals grrrrr, 00:21**
> 
> _Shōyō-kun shared a picture._

Hinata has graced the MSBY team chat with a blurry, sweaty selfie of himself and Atsumu, arms on each other’s shoulders and cheeks smushed together as Shōyō grins like a veritable sun god-demon. And he is, perhaps he is. Sometimes Atsumu has the wild thought that Hinata spent two years soaking up the Brazilian sun to bottle it up under his skin, and now he controls its power and can bring it out at will. That’s what it feels like to be on the receiving end of his megawatt smiles.

> **Samu, 11:37**
> 
> > Are ya and Rin alive?

He glances over to the living room before replying.

> **Tsumu, 11:41**
> 
> > Barely. Suna’s not movin but I think he’s still breathin

The teabag swirls and floats to the top of the mug as he pours the hot water. He sighs and sits at the kitchen table, head and heart pounding alike.

He pulls up his messaging app once again. There, the third chat from the top after _Samu_ and _Sexy Jackals grrrrr_ , shows a name that shouldn’t be there, sure proof of last night’s drunken crimes.

Fuck him and his lack of self control. He takes a premature sip of tea that scalds his mouth without remorse.

He bites into the tip of his tongue to ease the sting of the burn, as his thumb hovers and finally presses down on _Omi_.

He has to scroll up through a distressing number of text to reach the head of last night's conversation, right below a _thanks for the spare shirt, I’ll bring it back tmr / No problem_ dated 9th of February. Crap.

> **Omi, 01:53**
> 
> > Omi
> 
> > OMIIIUII
> 
> > WHERE AFE YA
> 
> > Im out eith rinrin ans shoyo btu id ratger be with ya
> 
> > Why dudja leabe 
> 
> > Im sorru i know somethinss in a lot and you dont ljke ne very much
> 
> > I didnt mean it 
> 
> > The other day wheb i said yer thw worst jerk ive ever met adb i hope im not gonna have to see uer fwce agajn nect year
> 
> > Pleae dont go play with the adlers
> 
> > Stay in Osaka omi, ill give ya rbe best sets yave ever hsd 
> 
> > Dont leave
> 
> > Msorry
> 
> > I like yer facew s nice

The thread is left on read.

This is a _disaster_.

Unmitigated, cosmical disaster. Atsumu has never willed for an immediate and painless death as much as he is now.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuckety fuck. He looks away from his phone and wants to hide under a heavy blanket and sob. 

Atsumu hates himself, Valentine’s day and whoever invented forehead moles. He wants to punch his drunk self with a vengeance. He also hates Sakusa for invariably bringing out the worst in him, his sharpest words, his angriest rants. 

Fuck you, Sakusa Kiyoomi, with feeling. 

They fight over the stupidest, meaningless shit; Sakusa is impossible. Impossible to please, impossible to ignore, impossible to walk away from. He’s tried. Has been trying for the best part of a year now. 

They’ve been doing better though, Atsumu thinks. Sometimes it’s like— it’s like they’re _friends_. 

On the last day before breaking for mid-season they had been doing so well, they almost got to the end of the training session without jumping at each other’s throat. Almost. But then.

“Whatcha doin’ over the break?”

“It’s none of your business Miya.”

Atsumu couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Come on, ya got a pretty girl waitin' for ya in Tokyo?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

Sakusa flinched.

“Or a pretty boy maybe?”

“I don’t fuck around like _you_.” Sakusa’s tone was as hard as stone, as sharp as glass.

How did they get there so quickly? Atsumu felt like he was watching a disaster unfurl in slow motion, unable to stop himself and just _shut up_. Aggression coursed through his veins, but it was underlined by a profound sense of despair that was slowly welling up from the bottom of his stomach.

“Fuck ya, ya don’t know shit about me.”

“And thank fuck for that. Newsflash Miya, nobody wants to know about you.”

“Ya know what Omi, why even bother coming back then, why dontcha stay in fucking Tokyo. Go’n play with yer Wakawaka buddy while yer at it.”

“And maybe I will! Gods, you’re the fucking worst.” Sakusa’s face was scrunched in a grimace as he stormed out of the changing rooms slamming the door behind him.

“Yeah leave, fucking leave!”

.

.

.

“Atsumu-san, are you ok?”

He felt like crying. Fuck. “Yeah.” He swallowed and pulled a smile from his bag of tricks. “I’m good Shōyō-kun, great.”

“Atsumu-san… Do you want to go out with me tonight? I’m in Osaka for another couple of days, Natsu is coming to visit tomorrow, she wants to see my new apartment and the city.”

Atsumu hummed. “Okay if I call Suna? He should be in town tonight.”

Shōyō almost vibrated with excitement, bless him. “Yes, please! I've been meaning to ask him about that block reading thing he does since our last EJP match.”

***

Some movement in his peripheral vision distracts him from his misery. He looks up from the cup of tea that’s probably gone cold to meet a pair of eyes looking at him from the corridor.

“Suna, I think I fucked up.”

***

According to Suna, perched on his sofa and wrapped in a blanket like a semi-comatose oracle, there are only two possible outcomes.

“Best case, he ignores the texts and you can both pretend nothing ever happened.”

“And worst?”

“Worst case, Sakusa replies and asks what the fuck you were on last night.”

Atsumu groans. 

“You can always say you were shitfaced drunk and have no recollection whatsoever of writing any of that. Which, you know, it’s not even a lie.” Suna takes a careful sip of water from a glass before continuing. “Or, you could just go all in and confess that you have an embarrassing, monstrous, gay crush on your ice-cold teammate.”

“I hate ya. And Omi’s not that cold once ya get t’know him.”

Suna arches an eyebrow and shoots him a meaningful look. 

“Fuck.” Atsumu murmurs under his breath. He spreads his arms on the floor, channelling his best impression of a dying starfish, blank stare turned to the ceiling. “Maybe I should just move out of Osaka, start a new life far away.”

Suna hums. “Yeah you’d look good in Adlers’ white.”

“Ugh. Jerk. No ok, can’t do that. Can’t leave the Jackals before we win the championship. I wanna see Ushiwaka cry. Suna, does that make me a bad person?”

“Nah I feel the same way every time we play against them. Although I have to say that blocking his spikes is in my top three favourite erotic moments of all times.”

Atsumu laughs, even though his headache punishes him for it. “Kinky fucker, I knew roof blockin’ got ya off.”

“As if you’re any better. You’re the most insufferable setter of the league, can’t believe nobody hasn’t socked you in a dark gym corridor yet.”

“I usually get a different kinda treatment in dark gym corridors y’know.”

“Gross.”

“See if I care.” A pause stretches between them. “Rin… What am I gonna do with Omi-kun?”

“Mhm. Honestly I think you can either ignore it, which is not very… _mature_ but whatever, or apologize. Short and sweet, don’t let your big dumb mouth run. I doubt that Sakusa would like to have an extended conversation about it anyways. Doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Yeah maybe yer right. I’ll— I’ll text him later.”

Suna groans from the sofa. “Shit why did we drink so much last night? Feels like my head’s been put through a washing machine at maximum spin cycle.”

“Don’t remind me. Had fun though. I think.” Atsumu turns his head and notices Suna slowly standing up with a pained expression. “Ya goin’ anywhere?”

“Yeah going to meet a friend for lunch.”

“Better move yer butt then, it’s already past midday.”

“Can I use your shower? I smell disgusting.”

“It’s all yers Rinrin.”

***

Suna had been wrong. Tragically wrong. 

The worst case scenario is not Sakusa replying to his drunk texts (which he didn’t, anyway). 

No, the ultimate, apocalypse-level scenario is hearing a knock on his front door and opening it to tousled curls, dark eyes and _fucking_ moles. 

Atsumu slams the door in his face.

“What the fuck! You rude bastard, open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean _you can’t_? You opened it a second ago.”

“No can do Omi. This business is closed on Sundays. Mondays. Whatever.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“Ya realize that’s not an incentive to let ya in.”

He hears a soft thud against the door.

“For the love of everything holy _Atsumu_ , open the damn door.” He sounds exasperated. Tired.

Atsumu sighs and pulls the door open, unbalancing Sakusa who must have been leaning his weight against it.

And that’s how Atsumu finds himself in the most awkward half-hug of his entire life, with a remarkably flustered Sakusa Kiyoomi holding onto his arm and shoulder. He thanks his lucky star that he took a shower after Suna and is not still wrapped in the sticky aftermath of his night out.

“Omi?” he asks, cautiously.

Sakusa rights himself and sighs, dropping a duffle bag from his shoulder to the floor and starts to take his coat off. His shoes come next. It could be a hallucination, but Atsumu thinks he can see the faintest blush on Sakusa’s face.

“Huh, come in. Can I getcha somethin’? Water? Tea? I’ve got some juice in the—”

“Tea would be nice, thank you.”

Tea, the best companion in awkward situations since time immemorial, giving Atsumu something to do and an excuse to turn his back on a gaze he doesn’t know how to hold anymore.

“So,” Sakusa says, eloquent as usual, from his spot at the kitchen table.

“So.” Atsumu looks at the water slowly heating up through the plastic window of the electric kettle. 

“Do you want to… uhm, explain what was _that_?”

“Ah. That.” Atsumu blinks at the blue LED light of the kettle. “It was… I got very drunk last night.”

“Well, that was pretty obvious.”

The kettle starts to make low rumbling noises.

“And?” Sakusa probes, “Care to add anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it. I got stupid drunk an’ sent some texts I didna mean.”

“That’s everything.”

“Yeah, as I said.”

Sakusa makes an unhappy little sound. “I swear to the gods that if you made me get on the first train back and now you’re not even going to—”

“Ya what?!” Atsumu turns on his heels, stunned. 

“I said that if you’re not going to talk to me like an adult, this time I’m going to punch you for real.”

“No Omi what the fuck didja say before that? Ya got on the first train back?!”

Sakusa gives him a look that’s almost _dejected_ and swallows. “Yeah… yeah I did,” he says slowly.

“Why?”

Sakusa’s hands curl up into fists on the grey laminate of the kitchen table and Atsumu moves before his brain can stop him. He takes four steps to Sakusa’s side, holding on to the corner of the table with one hand.

“Omi, what are we doin' here?” he asks softly.

The kettle boils in the background, and the safety mechanism clicks, turning it off.

“What you wrote in those texts, I know you were drunk but. Did you mean any of it?”

"Fuck," he says, and it sounds like surrender. "I guess I did. I do."

Atsumu realises he's clutching the side of the table way too tight. He releases his grip and puts his hand flat on the tabletop.

"You do what?" Sakusa asks.

"Ya have no mercy ya know? Alright, fuck it." He exhales with force, emptying his lungs. Inhales once. "Omi. Kiyoomi. I hate to say this, probably as much as yer gonna hate to hear it, but I think I like ya."

Sakusa does something then — palms slamming lightly on the table, hips pushing back on the chair and legs extending. It's a jumble of hard noises that marks Sakusa's realization that he's had enough of craning his neck to look up at Atsumu. He's standing now, two steps away from him with the most beautiful contrite expression Atsumu's ever seen on him, or on anyone else.

"You are so fucking stupid," Sakusa says as he steps closer and lays his forehead on Atsumu's shoulder, and who needs breathing anyway.

"Omi… Can I hug ya?"

Sakusa grunts.

"That a yes?"

"Yeah."

Atsumu gingerly wraps his arms around Sakusa's back.

Sakusa moves a little closer. "Why do we keep on fighting?"

"I dunno. Ya make me so damn mad sometimes that I wanna strangle ya."

"Likewise."

"Maybe next time I should try ta kiss ya instead."

"I'm going to have to think about that," Sakusa replies, but he leans into the hug and brings his arms around Atsumu's back too, so Atsumu thinks he's justified for hoping that Sakusa will want to kiss him someday.

"Sure Omi. Take yer time."

Sakusa speaks into his shoulder, and there’s something about their position that makes it easier to talk. "Atsumu I'm sorry. For what I said after training the other day."

"'m sorry too. I shouldn’a told ya to stay in Tokyo."

"And I shouldn't have told you that nobody wants to know about you. I do."

"Thanks for coming back Omi," and he sounds a little choked, maybe, but Sakusa doesn't comment on it and just rubs a few tentative circles on his back.

"I've been feeling like shit for the last three days. Kept on thinking about our fight."

"Tell me ‘bout it. Feels like I haven’t slept since."

"Same. I was actually awake when you sent me those messages last night."

"Oh my gods." Atsumu is _horrified_.

Sakusa muffles something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle in the fabric of his hoodie.

"It was like watching the live stream of a train wreck."

"Yeah I can give ya that. I honestly don't remember much after a certain hour last night."

"You shouldn't drink that much."

"I blame Shōyō. An' I was tryina forget about stupid Valentine's day and 'bout our stupid fight."

"I fucking hate Valentine's day."

Atsumu hums in assent. “Hey Omi I feel like I'm a minute away from passing out, I need to be horizontal. Wanna nap with me?"

"That. Might be the best idea you've ever had."

It's only a little later when Sakusa snuggles close and pulls him against his chest. Sakusa is spooning him.

Sakusa. Spooning. _Him_. A sentence that Atsumu never ever thought he'd say, not even in his wildest dreams. The feeling is interstellar.

"Hey… Next time we fight. Can we… Try to talk it out?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

And like that, with Sakusa's nose pressed against the back of his neck and his arm around his waist, Atsumu feels light with emotion and heavy with sleep, warm blankets and warmer feelings wrapped around them.

Atsumu's last conscious thought is that they'll be okay. Together. They can work things out, learn to speak to each other in a different way. He puts a hand around Sakusa's. They'll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope it made you smile ^-^  
> And yes, I totally made up a mid V.league season break conveniently placed around Valentine’s day, what of it?
> 
> I’m [here](https://twitter.com/ginkobean/status/1361333433730019331)!


End file.
